


When that sun goes down (You raise your cup)

by dezemberzarin



Series: I Lived Verse [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” Marco barked, his patience well and thoroughly worn out. “Believe it or not, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think of me, alright? I just need to know whether you’ve seen Mario since last night. He’s disappeared and he’s not answering his phone.” </p>
<p>There was a beat of silence and Marco congratulated himself for having managed to throw her. </p>
<p>“What do you mean, he’s disappeared,” Ann-Kathrin asked sharply. “What happened?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	When that sun goes down (You raise your cup)

**Author's Note:**

> I did it! I managed to not take a grotesque amount of time to get the next part up and ready! \o/ And a a big reason for that is the completely amazing feedback I got on the last installment. Thank you so very much, I still have no words, you people were so unbelievably kind <3 I hope this part won't disappoint, I certainly had a much easier time writing it. Unfortunately though, this is where shit gets real, so all aboard the angst train!

Marco woke with a headache so splittingly awful that for a moment he simply considered going back to sleep in order not to have to deal with it. He was reasonably sure he could do it, too, even with the uncomfortable position he was curled up in and the object digging into his hip that he dimly suspected to be his cell. There was something that kept him from slipping back into tempting nothingness however, something that ran slippery beneath the dull throb in his temples and when Marco finally got a hold of it, the sudden spike of adrenaline chased away any remnants of sleep. 

_Mario_. 

Shielding his eyes against the brightness of Mats’ living room, Marco fought until he was in a somewhat upright position and dug around in between the couch cushions he’d spent the night on for his phone. His headache picked up a notch as he squinted at the screen, but Marco paid little attention to it as his stomach dropped. No calls or messages. 

He dialed Mario’s number without a second thought, almost hurling his phone across the room when he got an automated voice after a couple of rings. Cursing internally, Marco opened another text message. 

_where r u?! pick up ur fucking phone._

Mats entered the living room just as Marco dropped his phone onto the coffee table in front of him with more force than was necessary, looking unfairly put-together and handsome even with the deep frown on his face. “No luck?” 

“Voice mail,” Marco rasped. 

“Shit.” Mats bit his lip. “Do you want some breakfast?”

The thought of food made Marco’s stomach roil. “No. Did you try and call him? What time is it?” 

“Almost ten,” Mats replied, glancing at his watch. “I’ve tried his cell every fifteen minutes since I got up, nothing. You really should eat something, Marco, you look awful.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Marco snapped, his temper rising quick and hot, fuelled by the awful headache. “I want Mario to answer his fucking phone.” 

“He probably just switched it off and forgot about it or something,” Mats reasoned and Marco groaned, because they’d had this conversation about twenty times already. 

“Mario doesn’t switch off his phone, the damn thing is practically attached to his hand,” Marco ground out, uncomfortably aware that he was repeating himself. His hangover wasn’t helping. Why had he drunk so much last night? The rush of guilt made the nauseous feeling in his stomach even more pronounced. He’d been hammered when Mats had found him last night and by the time his friend had finally managed to get it through to him that Mario had taken off in a rush, his best friend had been long gone. 

In truth, Marco had thought Mats was making a big deal over nothing until his own calls to Mario went straight to voicemail. Then he’d started to share his friend’s apprehension about Mario’s sudden departure. Mario always picked up Marco’s calls, no matter what the time or place was. None of the others had heard from him either (although admittedly some of their friends were having trouble remembering their own names at that point, let alone whether they had talked to Mario) and Mats had finally convinced Marco to come back to his place to sleep off the worst of his alcohol-induced haze. 

Only instead of the couple of hours he’d promised, Mats had let him sleep well into the morning and in all that time, Mario still hadn’t replied to any of their calls and messages, which was unprecedented to say the least. On top of that, Marco still wasn’t sure that Mats was telling him everything. His friend insisted that Mario had just taken off without a warning after draining a shot, but from the way Mats had arrived at their table last night, harried and with a pinched look of worry on his face, something else must have happened. Something that Mats was still keeping from him.

Marco swallowed hard as he tried to keep his mind from spinning horrible scenarios that all involved his best friend in the smoking wreckage of his car, some asshole with a knife should Mario have tried to walk back home-

“Hey.” Marco looked up into Mats’ concerned face. “Snap out of it. He’s probably just fine.” 

“You don’t know that.” Marco meant for it to sound irritated, but it came out small instead, almost scared. 

“No,” Mats said and sat down next to him heavily. “I don’t. But we’ll find out. You call Kevin, Lewy and Nuri, I’ll hit up Schmelle, Illy and Neven. Someone is bound to have heard from him.” 

But no one had. The next hour proved to be an exercise in frustration since half of their teammates weren’t even answering their phones after the night they’d all had. The ones that did hadn’t seen Mario after Mats had saw him leave last night and when some of them tried his cell, they got the same voicemail Mats and Marco had. All the while, the slow trickle of dread solidified in the pit of Marco’s stomach and he paced Mats’ living room, unable to keep still despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest his head. 

“Thanks, Lukasz,” Mats said just then and shook his head when Marco threw him an imploring glance. “Yeah, we’ll let you know once we find him. You too.” 

Mats leaned back with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his tired face. “That was a complete bust. It’s like he just disappeared of the face of the- hey, what are you doing?” 

Marco finished pulling on his crumpled hoodie, casting his eyes around for his shoes. “What does it look like? I’m going to find him.” 

Mats boggled at him. “And how do you think you’re going manage that, exactly? Are you just going to drive around Dortmund in the hopes that he’ll be wandering along some street?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Marco snapped. He was not in the mood for Mats’ flippancy. “I’ll try some of the others and then his parents’ house. They can’t ignore me when I’m knocking down the front door.”

“We called his parents’ house, Marco, no one picked up-“ 

“So what?” Marco growled, his reservoir of patience thoroughly exhausted. “It’s something, isn’t it? I’m not going to sit here and wait around, I need to do something.” 

Mats looked at him then and there was something in his eyes that startled Marco, an understanding that made him wonder just what exactly Mats had observed last night. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll keep trying from here.”

Marco just nodded, not trusting his voice as he struggled to pull on his sneakers. He pocketed his phone and accepted the water bottle Mats shoved at him. It probably would have been smart to get some food as well, but Marco didn’t think he could have kept anything down. Mats trailed after him to the front door, looking like he wanted to hold Marco back, but didn’t dare to. Good thing, too. Marco wouldn’t have felt good about starting a fight with Mats, but right then, he felt capable of pretty much anything. 

*

Two hours later Marco pulled out of Kevin’s driveway, swallowing against the iron taste of fear in his throat that no amount of water would get rid of. No one had heard from Mario. Not Kevin, not Ilkay, not even Nuri, who apart from Marco was probably the person Mario was closest to on the team. Their friends had all reacted confused and then increasingly worried once Marco shared the story of Mario’s disappearance. By then, due to Marco’s and Mats’ efforts, half the team was involved in calling around, but still nothing. 

There was one place left to try though. No one had picked up the phone at Mario’s house, but Marco was going to try anyway. If something had actually happened to his best friend, his parents would have to get involved sooner or later. The day was sunny and bright in a way they hadn’t experienced for weeks and Marco was glad for the sunglasses in the glove compartment of his Range Rover. Mats had driven it back from the club last night, thank God for small mercies. If he’d had to start his search for Mario by calling a cab, Marco thought he might have scared the driver off with his demeanor. 

The Rover’s dull roar was oddly soothing and driving made Marco feel better, more in control of himself. Mario always made fun of Marco’s obsession with cars and Marco’s chest tightened painfully as he glanced to the empty passenger seat, wishing for nothing more than for his best friend to be sitting there with a wise-ass remark about Marco’s control issues on his lips. 

It took Marco almost half an hour to get through midday traffic and to the residential neighborhood the Götze family lived in. He saw immediately that Mario’s car wasn’t out front, which wasn’t surprising, but still made his stomach drop. Pulling into the spot that was usually taken up by Mario’s Audi, Marco got out, trying in vain to smooth down the crumpled front of his shirt as he walked up the stone path to the front door. 

As he rang the doorbell, Marco was acutely aware that he hadn’t showered since yesterday and looked like he hadn’t slept for even longer. His clothes reeked of the cigarette smoke and alcohol from the pub last night, since he hadn’t asked Mats to borrow anything of his to wear. He was annoyed that he was even thinking about this stuff right now, but Mario’s family and his home always had a tendency to make him feel…a little unrefined, even on his best day. 

Unlike Mario, Marco had grown up in a modest household and even though he’d been able to afford pretty much anything he wanted since he started playing for Gladbach a few years ago, the Götze family’s wealth and almost nonchalant attitude towards it, was completely unfamiliar to him. He doubted Mario had ever noticed it, but the few times Marco had met his family, they had acted distanced towards him, if perfectly friendly. There was something almost patronizing about it and at the time, Marco had wondered (a little unkindly perhaps) how someone as warm-hearted and open as Mario had sprung from that home. 

He braced himself as the front door opened, but to Marco’s relief he was faced with neither of Mario’s parents. Instead, an annoyed looking Felix stared at him with all the ire of a teenager whose video gaming had just been interrupted, judging from the controller still clutched in his hand. The expression gave way to faint surprise as the boy took in Marco’s appearance. Marco tried to smile. 

“Hey, Felix. Your parents home?” 

Felix shook his head, eyes still flicking up and down. Marco tried very hard to tell himself that he wasn’t feeling judged by a fourteen-year-old. “They’re at some conference until tomorrow.” He waited for a moment, still staring at Marco with a hint of suspicion. “Uhm, Mario isn’t here, you know.”

Marco’s heart beat painfully once or twice. “I figured,” he said, waving his hand towards the street where Mario’s car was missing. “Any idea where he is?” 

Felix shrugged with the air of a boy who had more important things to think about than his older brother’s whereabouts. “No clue. You should try his cell.” 

Jesus. 

“Did that,” Marco said with a forced smile that felt wrong on his face. “He must have forgotten to charge it or something. So he hasn’t been around?” 

“Not since yesterday.” Felix shrugged. “But I wasn’t here in the morning. School,” he added, eyeing Marco like he wasn’t sure whether he needed that explained to him. 

“Yeah, sure,” Marco managed, his mind racing. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d put on finding Mario here. God, what was he supposed to do now? 

Realizing that he might have to call someone at the club’s management or even the police, Marco swallowed hard. He gave Felix another weak smile. If anything, he wouldn’t give Mario’s little brother a reason to worry until he definitely knew something was wrong. 

“Okay, thanks, man. If Mario shows up, tell him to give me a call, yeah?” 

Felix shrugged. “Sure.” 

Marco hesitated. “If your parents aren’t here, who-“ 

“Fabian is gonna be home soon,” Felix said, rolling his eyes in a way that indicated he had just found Marco to be one of _those_ adults. It was oddly endearing and for a moment he looked so much like Mario that Marco had to smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you around, Felix.” Marco was turning to leave, when Felix’ voice held him back.

“Hey, Marco?” 

Marco gave him a questioning look and Felix bit his lip, before blurting out: “Great game last night.” 

He was blushing and Marco actually had to think for a moment until he knew what the boy was talking about. Then he had to suppress a smile. “You watched?” 

“Yeah,” Felix said, his cheeks carrying even more color now. “That free kick you did was pretty cool.” 

Marco inclined his head. “Thanks. I could teach you sometime, if you want.” 

Felix’ eyes widened. “Really? I mean, yeah. That’d be cool.” 

Marco nodded, wondering at himself for ever interpreting the boy’s behavior as condescending, when it was pretty clear that Felix was just trying to appear self-confident in front of him. He offered his fist and Felix bumped it, grinning.

“It’s a deal.” He was already walking back to his car, when Felix spoke again. 

“He’s probably with Ann-Kathrin, you know.”

Marco stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at Felix, who shrugged. “He’s always hanging around at her place; I’d try that, if I were you.”

Marco, who had never felt like a bigger idiot in his life, gave him a nod. “I will. Thanks, Felix.” This time he even meant it. 

*

“What?” 

Marco blinked, honestly thrown for a second. “That’s how you answer your phone?” 

“Who is this?” Ann-Kathrin’s voice was cool and clipped in his ear and Marco rolled his eyes. 

“It’s Marco.” 

“Oh. How did you get this number?” 

He gritted his teeth, trying to get a hold of his temper. Yelling wouldn’t help him right now, as satisfying as it would be. “How do you think? Mario gave it to me.” 

“Hm. I see. What do you want?” 

“What?” 

Ann-Kathrin sighed impatiently. “I assume you want something from me, or are you telling me you called me to chitchat? In that case, I’m hanging up right now. No offense, but I have better things to do with my Thursday afternoon.” 

“Why, is there a pair of shoes that simply can’t wait to be bought until tomorrow?” Marco retorted snidely, instantly regretting it. He needed her help right now and engaging in a snipe fest wouldn’t get him there, as tempting as it was. Talking to Ann-Kathrin always brought out the worst in him and Marco had asked himself more than one time why that was exactly. He didn’t like her, true, but Marco didn’t like lots of people and he usually had little trouble holding his peace while dealing with them.

If he was completely honest with himself, his antipathy towards Ann-Kathrin stemmed more from the fact that Mario honestly enjoyed her company than anything else. It had been hard enough to accept the concept of a girlfriend in Mario’s life, as fake as that relationship was. But Mario actually _liked_ Ann-Kathrin and the two of them had struck up a friendship that gave Marco even more reason to be hopelessly, irrationally jealous of a person who got to have things from his best friend that he never would. 

Still, right now he needed her. And antagonizing her was probably not the best way to go about it. Marco steeled himself. 

“Sorry,” he ground out. “Long day. Listen, have you heard from Mario?” 

“Wow,” she said, voice dripping with condescension. “You actually do have a hint of manners. I was starting to think Mario was lying to me just for the hell of it.” 

Marco chose not to examine that too closely. “If you’d just answer the question, we wouldn’t have to drag this out for longer than anyone of us wants to. So, have you?” 

She went on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Personally, I have my doubts about that. If you ask me, you’re kind of-“

“Hey,” Marco barked, his patience well and thoroughly worn out. “Believe it or not, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think of me, alright? I just need to know whether you’ve seen Mario since last night. He’s disappeared and he’s not answering his phone.” 

There was a beat of silence and Marco congratulated himself for having managed to throw her. 

“What do you mean, he’s disappeared,” Ann-Kathrin asked sharply. “What happened?” 

Marco breathed deeply, glancing over his shoulder before switching lanes. “It doesn’t matter. Have you heard from him?” 

“Like fucking hell it doesn’t,” she snapped and he was a bit surprised by the vigor in her voice. “What did you do?” 

Marco seriously wanted to throw his phone out the car window just to be done with this. “I didn’t call to be interrogated. I simply need you to tell me whether he’s contacted you since last night.”

“Well, he hasn’t! So now you better tell me what the hell is going on!” She actually sounded worried and Marco felt a twinge of guilt. 

“I don’t know, okay? The whole team was out celebrating last night and he just took off. No one’s seen him since.”

“His parents-“ 

“I’m just coming from there. They’re not home and Felix doesn’t know anything.”

“You didn’t tell him-“ 

“God, no,” he said irritably. “He’s fourteen, do you think I’m an idiot? But I’m fresh out of ideas. If you haven’t heard from him-“ Marco stopped, having to swallow. “I don’t know where else to look.” 

Ann-Kathrin was silent for so long that he was pulling the phone from his ear to see if the call had disconnected, but when she spoke, her voice was cool and firm. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call around, see if maybe Fabian has heard from him or something. Does anyone else know?”

“Just the guys from the team.” 

“Keep it that way for now. If something actually happened, the last thing we want is the press finding out. But if we don’t hear from him until tonight, we’ll have to talk to his manager and his parents.” 

Marco’s grip on his phone had become white-knuckled. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I’ll call you once I know more.” She hung up without any reassurances as to Mario’s hypothetical well-being and Marco found that he actually respected her more for it. Just like Marco, she knew that it was completely unlike Mario to go off the radar like he had. Something had happened. Marco could feel it in his gut. And with his last lead exhausted, he didn’t know what else to do. 

*

The clock in his hallway approached two in the afternoon when he unlocked his front door and Marco took a moment to marvel at the fact that he had left Mats’ flat less than three hours ago. It felt like a lifetime. His flat was quiet and a bit stuffy and Marco opened the kitchen window to let in air, as he got himself some orange juice out of the fridge. His eyes felt gritty with the lack of sleep and he hadn’t eaten anything all day, but none of the leftovers looked appealing and Marco knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, no matter what he tried. 

A shower was definitely something he could manage though and by the glimpse he’d gotten from the hallway mirror, something he sorely needed. Bottle of orange juice tucked underneath his arm, Marco dug his phone out of his pocket as he made his way to his bedroom. Two texts, one from Mats, one from Nuri, neither of them with any news. He sighed, shoving the phone back into the front of his hoodie as he shouldered open the bedroom door. And promptly froze. 

There, curled into his customary nest of blankets and pillows was Mario, soundly asleep. Marco stood frozen, his mind a complete blank as he gaped at his best friend, who was slumbering away peacefully, completely unaware of what havoc he’d caused. Still in a daze, Marco took two steps into his bedroom before his knees turned watery and he barely made it to the edge of the bed, more falling than sitting down. 

The relief flooding through him was so great that it felt like a living thing inside his chest, clawing to draw breath. His whole body felt jittery, out of touch with his thoughts, all the tension and anxiety of the entire day fading and giving way to exhaustion. He hadn’t realized just how afraid he’d been that something had actually happened to his best friend until he saw him safely tucked away in the last place Marco had thought to look for him. 

Marco’s hand was shaking as he reached out to touch Mario, running his palm through the softness of his hair and caressing his cheek with clumsy fingers. Despite his relaxed state, Mario didn’t look well. He was actually frowning in his sleep and the lines in his forehead made him appear pale and drawn in the early afternoon light. He looked like a man desperately in need of rest and Marco could sympathize, he really could. 

But he was still leaning down to press a kiss against Mario’s temple, couldn’t stop himself. And as Mario started to stir beneath the caress, the only thing Marco felt was a selfish gladness, because he needed this. Needed to see that Mario was truly alright, needed to hear his voice and feel him respond to Marco’s touch. 

He pulled back in time to see Mario open his eyes, hazy with sleep and confusion until they focused on him and Marco had never seen anything more beautiful than the faint smile curling in the corners of his best friend’s mouth. Before Mario could say anything, Marco was crawling onto the bed with him, gently nudging at his shoulder until he made room for Marco to press close. 

 

“Hey,” Mario croaked, as Marco lifted the comforter and slid into the warm space underneath. His voice was rough and deep with sleep and Marco wanted to put his head on Mario’s chest, listen to the soft rumble of it right against his ear. He settled for burying his face in the crook of Mario’s neck, running the tip of his nose along the faint outline of Mario’s collarbone through the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. 

“What-“ Mario started, but Marco wouldn’t let him finish his sentence, already raising his head and kissing him, just a touch of desperation sparking his movements. Mario was warm, solid and _well_ next to Marco, the taste and smell of him perfectly familiar and soothing. Marco deepened the kiss, near frantic to forget anything else around him, especially the stubbornly lingering images of Mario in some sort of accident, a robbery gone wrong, laid out in a hospital bed. 

Marco was half-hard and so caught up in the moment that it took him longer than he would later like to think about to realize that Mario was actually squirming against him, his hand pressed against Marco’s chest not in an effort to get him closer, but to push him away. Once Marco’s mind caught up, he jerked back as if burned, honestly stunned as he stared at Mario, who was retreating to sit with his back against the headboard. 

Marco sat up as well, trying to figure out just what had gone wrong here. Unlike the unguarded, affectionate smile Mario had given him upon waking, his best friend’s face was closed off now, eyes flicking quickly up and down as he took in Marco’s unshaven face, the rumpled clothes he’d worn at the club last night. Marco had never felt self-conscious in Mario’s presence before, but he was now, too aware that he really needed that shower he’d come in here to take. 

“What time is it?” Mario asked, drawing up his knees to his chest and hugging them. 

“After two,” Marco replied with a frown, still trying to see through the blank expression Mario was wearing. “Did you sleep the whole time?” 

“I guess,” Mario said with a little shrug. 

“When did you come here?” Marco asked, trying hard to make sense of this whole conversation and to smother the prickle of anger at Mario’s disaffected behavior. 

Mario glanced at him shortly, eyes dark and unmoved. “Not sure. Late.” 

Definitely more than just a prickle of anger now. Marco took a deep breath, told himself to stay calm. “What about your phone? We tried reaching you.” 

“Shut it off,” Mario said with another shrug, like that wasn’t a completely weird thing for him to do. 

Marco stared at him. “You shut it off?” he repeated incredulously and by now the anger had grown to a steady flame. “Why?” 

“I just felt like it,” Mario replied and now _he_ sounded irritated. “What do you even care?” 

And that was it, really. The anger Marco had been desperately trying to reign in swelled, burning like acid in his stomach. 

“What do I care?” he repeated furiously and took hollow satisfaction in the comically surprised look on Mario’s face. “I don’t know, Sunny, you fucking tell me.”

His voice had risen, continued to as he went on, until he was yelling. “I spent my entire morning driving all over town looking for you, Mats and I woke half the guys calling around, I even involved your fucking girlfriend and all you’ve got to tell me is that you just felt like shutting off your phone? I thought I was going to have to start calling hospitals next!” 

Mario was gaping at him. “Why the hell would you do that?” he demanded incredulously and Marco had fucking _had_ it. 

“Because you fucking took off without telling anyone! Because you weren’t answering you phone, which you have never, in all the time we’ve known each other, done before! Even Mats knew something was off, if his awful couch hadn’t already kept me awake, all his hand-wringing would have done it!” 

There was something else on Mario’s face now, a look Marco couldn’t interpret as his best friend’s eyes raked over him, apparently taking in his disheveled state once more. “You were with Mats?” 

His voice was different now, almost hopefully quiet and Marco was pretty sure he was missing something important here, but he was also too furious to care just then. “That’s what you want to focus on. Out of all the things I just said.” Marco threw his hands up in the air, starting to get up. “You know what? I can’t deal with this right now.” 

“Wait, where are you-“ 

“The bathroom,” Marco cut him off, already halfway across the room. “I need to take a fucking shower.”

He slammed the bathroom door forcefully behind himself, locking it with fingers still shaking with adrenaline and anger. His face in the mirror was even paler than usual as he gripped the edge of the sink and Marco uttered a clipped sound of disgust at the deep shadows beneath his eyes before twisting around again, pulling off his grimy clothes and tossing them in the hamper in the far corner. 

He determinedly didn’t think about anything until he was in the shower, hot water and intense water pressure beating down on him and making the low thrum of residual rage seem bearable, if deeply unsettling. Mario and he had never fought like this before. Not once. They’d had their squabbles and differences, but nothing that hadn’t been resolved immediately by a joke or punch to the shoulder. 

He washed his hair and body mechanically, feeling better once he was done and could just stand under the hot spray of water, letting it rinse away the soap and turn his skin a faint pink. By the time he got out, the water temperature was starting to drop off and the mirrors were fogged up so badly that Marco had to wipe a hand across the glass to be able to see his face as he shaved and brushed his teeth. 

With the water off he could hear the faint murmur of Mario’s voice from the bedroom, but refused to listen more closely as he dried himself off and scrubbed a towel through his hair before wrapping it around his hips. He wasn’t thrilled about having to face Mario half-naked, but all his clothes were in the bedroom and Marco was not going to pick something from the hamper. 

It had gone quiet again and Marco berated himself as he hesitated for a moment, hand on the doorknob. This was ridiculous. It was only Mario out there and fight or not, he would have to face him again eventually. _What if he left?_ A tiny voice murmured silkily. _What if that was him calling a cab earlier and he’s on his way home, because you yelled at him instead of-_

Marco pulled the door open, squashing those thoughts as he strode into his bedroom. Mario was still there. He was perched on the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and his phone clasped loosely in one hand. He glanced up as Marco came in and his face was pale and serious, the color drained from his cheeks.

“I switched on my phone,” he said quietly, his eyes dark as they followed Marco around the room. 

Marco forcefully opened a drawer in his closet, pulling out a pair of briefs and snagging a t-shirt from the stack of unfolded laundry on the chair next to it. “Did you.” 

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken softly, but Marco could hear them perfectly as Mario snuck up to stand behind him. “I talked to Mats and Ann. I didn’t know, Marco.” 

Marco’s fingers where trembling where he was clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “I thought something had happened to you, Sunny.” Just saying the words was making his throat close up again and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the images that emerged all too readily from where he’d tried to bury them all morning. “I thought you’d gotten in an accident or-“ 

He broke off, unable to go on. There was a rush of warmth and then Mario was pressed up against his back, arms wrapped tightly around Marco’s waist as he pressed a kiss to his spine, right between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m sorry. Marco, believe me, I’m so fucking sorry. I thought-“ he stopped and Marco thought vaguely that he ought to press Mario on this, ask him what the hell had been the matter with him earlier and last night for that matter. But the last twelve hours had taken their toll on him and his entire body was still screaming for Mario, the need to feel him in his arms palpable and real. 

He turned around and this time Mario didn’t fight him as Marco took his face into his hands and kissed him, deep and slow until they were both breathing hard. Mario tugged on the towel around his hips and Marco took it for the invitation that it was, pushing at Mario’s chest until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell back onto the tangle of sheets, gazing up at Marco from beneath his lashes. 

There was a bit of a flush in Mario’s cheeks now, the hard line of his cock stretching the briefs that upon closer inspection were a bit too snug not to be a pair of Marco’s. Marco wanted him so badly it made his cock twitch and he dropped his towel as he crawled on top of Mario, shoving up his t-shirt and running his fingers along his chest, tweaking his nipples. Mario gasped and grabbed onto Marco’s hips, drawing him close. 

Getting a hold of the fabric of Mario’s briefs, Marco jerked them down to his thighs, sighing in content when he managed to line up their bare cocks. Mario groaned at the contact, jerking up his hips and the friction drew a moan from Marco. Neither of them had the patience for anything more sophisticated than this and they kissed hungrily as they rubbed off on each other like teenagers, Mario’s briefs still caught around his knees and his shirt pushed up for Marco to play with his nipples. 

It took Marco less than five minutes to bring himself to the edge that way and once he did he doubled his efforts on Mario, sucking a bruise into the soft skin of his throat and teasing his nipples with tiny tugs and flicks. If he was going to come from basically dry-humping Mario into the mattress, his best friend was damn well going first. A bitten off whimper from Mario and a short burst of pain from where his fingers dug into Marco’s hips told him he’d succeeded even before he felt the warm spurt of come against his belly and Marco gasped with relief as he gave in as well, his orgasm sharp and sudden, like a punch to the gut. 

Mario held onto him as he shuddered through it, fingers combing through Marco’s hair where he had his face buried into the crook of his neck. Letting the aftershocks and endorphins wash through him, Marco wrapped his own arms around Mario as best as he could lying down, returning the tight embrace. He felt at peace for the first time since the game last night and only slightly marveled at the fact that Mario could do this so easily for him now. It wasn’t that surprising really. 

“Never do that again.” Marco hadn’t even known he wanted to say it before the words were out of his mouth and he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the expression on Mario’s face at the naked desperation in his voice. 

Mario didn’t even pretend he didn’t know what Marco was talking about. “I won’t,” he said softly and there was the soft brush of his lips against Marco’s temple. “Promise.” 

Marco wanted nothing more than to give into the temptation of sleep, his body heavy with satisfaction and yearning for rest, but there was still something niggling at the back of his mind. 

 

“What happened last night? Why did you switch off your phone?” It came out slurred, approaching sleep dragging out his vowels, softening them. 

There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” Mario said slowly and there was something in his tone that made Marco open his eyes, although all he could see was the line of his best friend’s jaw. “I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone after the game, I guess.” 

It made sense. Mario had never liked clubbing much and he usually retreated when dealing with something that upset him, like the loss last night surely had. Although Marco had never known him to go as far as to switch off his phone and just sleep in order to escape everything else, he also never had witnessed a professional setback in Mario’s life as severe as the loss to Bayern last night. The explanation was perfectly logical. 

_So why do I get the feeling that you’re lying to me?_ The thought came with a sense of foreboding so strong that it scared Marco. He didn’t know how to give voice to the unspoken shadows lurking at the back of his mind without sounding ridiculous, but they were still there when he fell asleep, haunting his dreams even as he finally slept in the knowledge that Mario was right there with him. 

*

The next three weeks passed like a blur as the team threw itself into training after the loss they’d all taken incredibly hard. They were out of the DFB-Pokal and at this point Bayern was too far ahead in the table for them to secure anything but second place in the Bundesliga, but there were still a great many matches to be played and above all else, there was the Champion’s League. The competition people had been the least optimistic about had become their single goal for the season and the second leg against Donezk was to be played at home.

Signal-Iduna was a boiling pot that day, like a living thing around them, cheering them on, pushing them forward. They won, with Mario delivering a performance that had the press raving afterwards, scoring a goal and being involved in almost all of the dangerous situations. All the praise seemed to slide right off Mario, but Marco was insanely proud of him, as always a bit in awe when he saw his best friend in action on the pitch. 

Marco had no illusions about his own abilities; he knew he was a great football player. But watching Mario still made him marvel and when they played together, they became a supernova, fuelled by each other’s energy and skill. Off the pitch however, they were slightly out of step with each other and Marco had a sinking feeling that it was mostly his doing. 

After Mario’s disappearance and the fight they’d had, Marco had been eager to mend any fractures in their relationship and Mario was willing enough, forgoing most of his carefully kept to rules to spend more time with him. They were together during the day for training and Mario only went back once or twice a week to sleep at his parents’ place, using Ann-Kathrin as an alibi for his prolonged absences. They ate together, slept together and had more sex than ever, which made Marco wonder how they’d managed before.

And yet. There was something off and Marco was driving himself crazy trying to figure out what it was. Sometimes he caught Mario staring off into the distance like he was a thousand miles away and when Marco made careful inquiries as to what he was thinking about, his best friend always brushed him off. It made Marco feel paranoid, like a dog barking at shadows. Mario’s mind was on something and even though it was just like his best friend to keep it to himself and puzzle over it, Marco had a hard time trying to be patient. 

Football was a welcome distraction and they did well in their Bundesliga games, rewarding themselves and their work with wins over Hannover, Schalke and Freiburg. The cherry on top was the match against Freiburg at home when they scored five times and all of them could feel the energy gathering around this particular troop, spurring them on and making even the impossible seem within their reach. 

The first quarter final game against Malaga would be in two weeks and in all the preparation and commotion Marco almost forgot about the concert in Berlin he and Mario had gotten tickets for ages ago. Once he remembered, he briefly contemplated skipping it. Their game was on Friday evening, but they would have to go back on Monday morning insanely early in order not to miss any training. 

In the end, it was Mario who convinced him to go, more by accident than anything else. He’d been incredibly tense in the days leading up to the concert weekend, burying himself in extra drills at training and barely allowing Marco to relax him when it was just the two of them. Marco was pretty sure the pressure of their upcoming Champion’s League match was taking a toll on his best friend, even if he’d never admit it. They needed some time away from Dortmund and as far as Marco was concerned, Berlin was exactly the place for it. 

*

He nearly revised that opinion once they arrived. Their train had been delayed twice and the three hour journey had stretched to last nearly twice that long. It took the two of them another half hour to make it through traffic to their hotel and even though the place was beautiful, located right near the Brandenburger Tor and grand in its appearance, they barely had time to take a look at their rooms, quickly throwing on a change of clothes and jumping into another cab to make it to the concert venue on time. By the time they’d found their seats, high up in the VIP section, neither of them was in the best mood, tired and hungry from the journey. 

But then something wonderful happened. In all the hassle, Marco had nearly forgotten why they’d come here in the first place. When the opening acts took the stage, he was reminded why he loved going to concerts so much. The thrum of energy from the crowd in the venue was tangible, the murmur growing into a roar when the first cords were struck on stage. Marco felt his weariness evaporate and when he glanced at Mario, he saw the same excitement mirrored on his best friend’s face and they grinned at each other. 

The opening acts were fantastic, working the crowd into a frenzy and thoroughly entertaining them in their wait for the main act of the night. No one was in their seat anymore after the first half hour and the ground floor was packed, filled with the glow from waving phones in the dim light. As the second band announced their last song, Mario turned to Marco, grabbing his arm with a look on his face that Marco knew all too well. And he wasn’t disappointed. 

“Let’s go to the floor!” Mario yelled over the noise, pointing helpfully with the hand not curled around Marco’s biceps. 

Marco knew better than to argue with his best friend when he had that gleam in his eyes, but he made a half-hearted attempt anyway. “They won’t let us in! We don’t have tickets!” 

Mario made a face that suggested he wasn’t impressed by Marco’s objection and sure enough, they found themselves down on the floor at the edge of the crowd five minutes later, after Mario had charmed the security guy and shown them their VIP tickets. The lights had been dimmed even further and Marco was barely able to make out Mario right ahead of him as they wove their way through the crowd to get a more centered view of the stage. Halfway through, Marco grabbed a hold of the back of Mario’s hoodie, making sure that they didn’t lose each other. 

Mario stopped seemingly at random once they’d managed to get into the thick of the crowd, everyone packed in tightly around them. He threw a glance over his shoulder and smiled brightly when he caught Marco’s eyes, who had come to stand right behind him. Just then the show actually started, but Marco didn’t tear his gaze away for another long moment, smiling back at Mario like an idiot while everyone else went crazy around them. 

The next two hours seemed like a dream to Marco later. He kept Mario in front of him the entire time and the constantly moving crowd kept them pressed closely together while at the same time shielding them from any curios glances. In the dark, with Mario leaning back against his chest and moving to the music, they could have literally been any couple and Marco enjoyed the thought so much that it scared him a little. In all their time together, they had never actually left Marco’s apartment much, not even to go out to dinner when it was just the two of them. 

This right here actually felt like a date a real couple might have and Marco was too caught up in that thought for a while to even notice his hands sneaking up to rest on Mario’s hips, pulling him closer against Marco’s chest. Once he did, he was even more surprised to find that Mario hadn’t pulled away like he usually did when Marco initiated any contact that might be labelled as ‘suspicious’ in public. Whether it was because of the relative privacy afforded by the low lighting and tightly packed venue or because he was just as lost in the moment as Marco was, Mario’s hands were on top of his, lacing their fingers together where Marco had his arms wrapped around his waist. 

They emerged from the concert after what felt like a lifetime, pouring out onto the concrete with thousands of others and nearly drunk with the music and lingering endorphins. They actually managed to snag a cab, but Mario made the driver drop them off at the museum island instead of their hotel, insisting that they could walk the rest of the way. Marco voiced his doubts about that as they climbed out onto the curb, but Mario waved his objections away. 

“I had a look at the map earlier and it’s like twenty minutes from here to the Brandenburger Tor.”

“Oh good, the guy who once got us lost in an amusement park had a look at the map.” Marco meant for it to come out snippy, but knew he couldn’t make it sound convincing with the stupid half-smile still stuck on his face. He had a feeling that tonight, Mario could have accidentally led them into the Spree and he would have found it endearing instead of annoying. In truth, maybe not even just tonight. At this point there was little use in pretending that he had even a modicum of self-respect left in that regard, but there was no need for Mario to know just how whipped Marco was. 

They walked along a boulevard lined with trees, passing the Berliner Dom and even more importantly a couple of food stands where Marco insisted on getting each of them a couple of indecently large portions of fries and curry sausage. When Mario started to mutter something about the dietary restrictions their nuturist had set for them last week, Marco shoved a couple of fries into his mouth while he was still talking, which resulted in a rather undignified slap fight that cost them one of their fry bags. As punishment, Marco made Mario buy them ice cream from the next vendor they passed and they were finishing the last bits just as the Brandenburger Tor and their hotel became visible ahead of them. 

The hotel lobby was still abuzz with people even at this late hour, but their luck held as they slipped through quickly, making their way up to their rooms without being intercepted or recognized by anyone. They’d only gotten a quick glance at the rooms earlier, but Marco’s had the better view and Mario pulled open the shades to admire the lit up Brandenburger Tor from the window, one palm resting against the glass. He turned when he heard Marco locking the door, raising an eyebrow, visible even in the darkness of the room. 

“You got any plans with me tonight, Reus?” 

Marco approached him slowly, pulling off his jacket and shirt as he did and tossing them onto a nearby chair. “A few,” he said, closing the distance between them and tipping up Mario’s chin to place a soft kiss on his mouth. 

Mario licked his lips when they separated again. “You taste like pistachio.” 

“Your constant evaluation of what my mouth tastes like is honestly a little disturbing,” Marco replied. “We just had ice cream, what do you expect? You taste like raspberry by the way, which, honestly, I’m not a big fan of.” 

Mario gave an exalted shrug. “Don’t kiss me then.” 

“Yeah, right,” Marco scoffed, leaning in to make that ridiculous idea die a quick death. Mario was grinning when he pulled back, wrapping both arms around Marco’s neck and looking up at him in a contemplative way. “I want to go sightseeing tomorrow,” he declared, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Alexanderplatz, Pergamonmuseum, that checkpoint where the Berlin Wall was.” 

Marco hummed in confirmation, brushing a kiss across Mario’s cheek before nuzzling into his soft hair. “Anything you want, Sunny.” 

“And Fabian told me about this Chinese place he went to with his friends in Kreuzberg? We should go there, too.” 

“Anything you want,” Marco murmured softly, this time finding the spot below Mario’s ear that never failed to make him gasp. “We have the whole day tomorrow.” 

“Anything I want, huh?” Mario repeated breathlessly, laughter in his voice. “And just what exactly do you want in return?”

“You, Sunny.” It came out a little more serious than Marco meant it to and he felt Mario pause, Adam’s apple moving in his throat as he swallowed. 

“Then you’re in luck,” his best friend said softly, his hands sliding down from Marco’s neck to hook into his belt loops as he tugged him towards the bed. “Because I’m right here.” 

*

Marco woke from the sun filtering in through the gauze curtains, bathing the room in a warm light that painted patterns across the white bed sheets. It took him a couple of seconds to remember where he was and once he did, the jolt of joy was quick and fierce. They had a whole day to themselves. A whole day without work, family or friends to interfere with their time together, a perfect Sunday on which they could do whatever they wanted and for once, they weren’t cooped up in his apartment. 

Marco rolled onto his back, once again glad that Mario slept like the dead as he jostled his best friend in the process. Mario simply muttered something in his sleep and curled into Marco’s side again, tucking a hand beneath his cheek where it rested on Marco’s outstretched arm. That arm would go to sleep in less than twenty minutes, Marco knew from pins-and-needly experience, but he didn’t move it, rolling his head to the side instead and studying his best friend in what he was pretty sure was a besotted manner. 

Mario’s face was relaxed, the stress from the past couple of weeks wiped away for now and Marco used the fingers from the hand not caught beneath Mario to trace its contours, stifling a laugh when Mario shifted and twitched as he stroked along his eyebrows. In the end Marco slipped back into sleep, lulled by the warm sunlight and Mario’s gentle breathing next to him. He only woke again once Mario stirred a while later, shifting and freeing the arm he’d been lying on.

Marco winced as the blood rushed back into his hand, pulling it close to his chest to massage the fingers, hoping to make the feeling pass more quickly. Mario grumbled and threw an arm across Marco, fingers groping across his belly until they found their way underneath Marco’s t-shirt, stroking the warm skin there. Marco relented and let his arm fall back, which Mario rewarded with a drowsy kiss to his biceps. 

Knowing that if he wanted to keep Mario from falling asleep again some more drastic measures were necessary, Marco moved to lie on his side as well, facing Mario, who was regarding him sleepily. The early morning sunlight made his eyes seem brighter than they really were and Marco realized that he could make out the tiny flecks of gold in the iris as he shifted closer, their noses brushing together gently. 

“Hi,” Mario whispered hoarsely and God, Marco was so utterly charmed by him that it had really gotten quite embarrassing. There was nothing that could have prevented the stupid smile spreading on his face. 

“Hi,” he murmured, matching Mario’s soft tone and shifting closer to brush his lips across Mario’s mouth. 

They spend the next minutes trading slow and lazy kisses, rolling around in the sheets and watching the sun climb higher outside without going any further than that. Marco was hard and he could feel the pressure of Mario’s erection against him, but the entire thing felt unhurried, like they had all the time in the world to make this happen. For once, they actually did.

When Mario pressed the travel size bottle of lube into his hand, Marco took his sweet time slicking his fingers and easing them into him one by one. Mario was on his back for him, one leg hooked over Marco’s shoulder to give him perfect access as he fucked him with his fingers. Marco kept his eyes on his face to catalogue any and all of Mario’s expressions as he teased him, purposefully avoiding his sweet spot for the longest while. His best friend was a sight to behold, his tanned skin highlighted by the white of the sheets around him, two high spots of color on his cheeks as he bit his flushed lips, trying to keep from begging. 

Marco got him there in the end though and once he heard the pleas spill from his best friend’s mouth, he hit that perfect spot easily enough, watching Mario being overtaken by his orgasm with a soft cry and twitch of his hips, clenching around Marco’s fingers. Marco crawled on top of him after he was done and Mario managed to get a hand in between them, jerking him off just the way he liked it, hard and fast. Burying his face in his favorite spot in the crook of Mario’s neck, Marco let himself be taken care of, trusting entirely in Mario’s ability to know what he needed. When he hit his own climax and spilled into Mario’s hand, his best friend nuzzled at his temple until Marco raised his head for them to kiss, leisurely and perfect. 

Neither of them got up to clean afterwards, content to lie sticky and exhausted in each other’s arms in the golden morning light. Marco chuckled a little once he got his breath back and Mario made an inquiring humming noise. Marco shook his head, his unshaven cheek rasping against the smooth skin of Mario’s chest. “Just remembered that I spent my last Sunday morning cleaning the roof terrace.” 

“Improvement?” Mario asked drowsily and Marco tweaked his nipple, making him squirm. 

“You have no idea.” 

There was a bit of a pause and then Mario spoke again. “Actually I do.” 

Marco propped his chin up on his best friend’s chest to gaze at him. “Oh?” 

Mario raised one hand to comb his fingers through Marco’s hair as he met his eyes. “Yeah. I was supposed to go see my grandparents this weekend. Big pre-Easter reunion.” 

“Improvement?” Marco replied with a grin, indicating their surroundings with a slight jerk of his head and Mario matched it with one of his own, even though it looked strained. 

“You have no idea.” He stroked along Marco’s cheek, eyes unseeing now as he stared at a spot somewhere above Marco’s shoulder. “My parents were disappointed though.” 

Marco winced. “How come?” he asked in as neutral a tone he could manage, knowing this was an area he had to tread carefully in. 

Mario shrugged, but there was nothing indifferent about the gesture. “They want my grandparents to meet my girlfriend.” The word took on a bitter edge in his mouth. “Apparently everyone is very excited.” 

Fuck. Marco was aware that the vicious spike of jealousy was entirely misplaced and that Mario would shut down within a blink of an eye, if he let on how much this bothered him. But it still hurt to hear that Mario’s family was so eager to meet someone whose privileges Marco desperately longed for. And even though his rational mind was quite insistent on the fact that as Mario’s best friend, his only task was to support him no matter what, Marco could feel the envy and possessiveness like bile in his throat. 

Hoping to hell that it wouldn’t show in his voice, Marco wracked his brains for a reply. “Would it be so bad if they met? They might like her.” Damn, that had sounded dubious, Marco thought with a wince.

“They probably will,” Mario said, like he hadn’t even noticed. “Everyone likes Ann-Kathrin, after all. My mom, my brothers, even my dad, they all think she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.” His laugh sounded brittle and Marco stared at him in alarm. He’d rarely heard his friend sound so vulnerable. 

Mario still wasn’t meeting his eyes as he continued. “Sometimes I feel like they don’t know me at all, you know? I guess it’s my fault for not telling them, but,” he paused, giving another laugh that sounded too strained to be real. “It still really sucks.” 

“You could tell them,” Marco said carefully. “They might surprise you.” Even though Marco didn’t feel too kindly towards Mario’s parents, he had a hard time imagining them as homophobic, or really doing anything to hurt their son. 

Mario shook his head, looking weary. “You have no idea. They hate lying. It’s the one thing they never tolerated when we were growing up. We could fuck up, as long as we came clean afterwards. If they find out about me, if they find out that I’ve basically been lying to them since I was a kid-“ he sucked in a breath and when his eyes finally met Marco’s they were dark with misery. “It’s going to break their hearts.” 

Marco stared at him, at a loss for words. As aware as he had always been of the fact that Mario had some deep-seated insecurities in regards to his sexuality, he’d thought them to be mainly related to the profession he’d chosen and the secrecy that was involved in that. With a jolt of guilt, Marco realized that he had never quite considered that to keep that sort of thing from one’s family would be another struggle entirely. To be honest, he had a hard time even imagining it.

 

True, he hadn’t told his own family, except for Mel, but that was mainly because he wasn’t quite sure himself what his feelings for Mario even meant for his sexuality. Was he gay now? Bi? Would anyone else ever turn his head the way Mario could and if not, what did it matter anyway? But Marco was sure that no matter what the answers to any of those questions were, his parent would support him one hundred percent. 

Marco felt like a complete asshole for not realizing how much of a toll this fake relationship had taken on Mario. His best friend’s distractedness in the last few weeks made a lot more sense now. Marco had been too involved with his own hurt feelings to even think about what Mario must be going through. He raised his hand to rest his palm against Mario’s cheek, stroking his jawline with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, unable to put the regret he felt for his best friend into better words. 

Luckily Mario had always been good at interpreting Marco’s actions when his words failed him. He turned his face into the caress and kissed the palm of Marco’s hand, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression had cleared and he was smiling a tiny smile. It barely touched the corners of his mouth, but Marco still counted it as a victory. “Alright, then. You promised me sightseeing.”

*

When Marco thought back to their weekend in the capital later, he always had a suspicious feeling that he was glorifying it in the face of all that had happened afterwards. But the truth was that on that Sunday, he and Mario were maybe the happiest they’d ever been together and the time flew by as they hit all the sightseeing spots on Mario’s list. He actually had made a list and Marco exhausted his entire repertoire of anal retentiveness jokes as he snapped picture after picture of Mario on his phone. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect, the sky a clear blue without a cloud in sight and the spring air warm enough for them to forgo their jackets as they explored the city. 

They started off by the Brandenburger Tor and climbed the glass dome of the Bundestag before making their way back along the boulevard they’d already walked the night before. The water of the Spree reflected the sunlight as they crossed over to the museum island, the shore filled with people reading in the sun and playing Frisbee. Mario insisted on seeing all the museums until Marco finally managed to convince him to pick one and they passed an hour wandering around the Pergamonmuseum until they got hungry and got some wraps from the cafeteria. 

Afterwards they took a cab to Alexanderplatz and climbed the TV tower, which Marco wasn’t that impressed by, but it proved to be entertaining nonetheless as he discovered that Mario was afraid of heights, although his best friend denied it adamantly (while never loosening the death grip he had on Marco’s arm). When they made it to Checkpoint Charlie and walked along the remnants of the Berlin wall, the sun was already starting to set and they slipped into the small museum with one of the last tourist groups. 

When they emerged a good hour later they were both starving and instead of picking a restaurant to stay at, they got three bags of food from the Chinese place Fabian had recommended and took a cab back to their hotel. Once in their room, Mario opened the doors to the tiny balcony and Marco dragged the coffee table over for them to spread out right in front, the noise from the street drifting up to them as they dug into their meal. 

The food was delicious and Marco was even tempted to take a bite from the mushroom spinach dumplings after Mario badgered him for half an hour, at last resorting to simply tossing them at Marco when he wouldn’t budge. In retaliation, Marco insisted that Mario drank one of the tiny bottles of plum schnaps they’d been given and laughed himself into a hiccupping fit while he watched his best friend pull faces as he downed the sickly sweet alcohol. 

“That was disgusting, you bastard,” Mario coughed once he’d finished. In spite of his words, he was smiling and Marco wondered idly when he’d last seen him this happy. He was so glad they’d come here. 

With a slight grunt he straightened, surveying the numerous containers on the low table between them. “Alright. What else haven’t we tried yet.” 

“No,” Mario groaned. “Absolutely not. I can’t. I know feeding me gets you off, but this is starting to edge into Amnesty International territory.” 

Marco regarded him across the table, slumped back against the pillows they’d thrown on the ground, heavy-lidded with satisfaction and decided to take some pity on him. “Fine. Just the cookie.” He dug around the bottom of one of the bags and pulled out two slightly battered fortune cookies, tossing one into Mario’s lap. 

He opened his first and burst out laughing at the message on the tiny slip of paper. “You will be hungry again in one hour,” he read and tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Can’t argue with that. Do yours.”

Mario groaned again, but cracked the cookie willingly enough. Marco watched his best friend unfold the paper, the smile on his face slowly fading as he read the words. Marco frowned, using his outstretched leg beneath the coffee table to nudge at Mario’s thigh, who sat cross-legged, eyes still fixed on the fortune. 

“What does it say? Will a dark stranger enter your life and hack you into tiny pieces?” The joke fell flat as Mario shook his head mutely. He hesitated for another moment, then read: 

“If you accept change as the only constant in your life, your future will be bright indeed.” 

The words were harmless enough, a couple of half-meaningful phrases thrown together, but Marco felt a shiver down his back as he watched Mario. His best friend looked like he’d seen a ghost. The air was suddenly filled with the same sense of foreboding Marco had felt on that morning after Mario’s disappearance from the club and Marco opened his mouth before he even knew what he wanted to say, desperate to make it disappear. 

“A bit generic, but better than an axe-murderer, huh?” His voice was too cheerful and he knew Mario realized it, too, when his best friend glanced up, his eyes dark and wide. 

“Marco, I-“ he stopped, mouth working silently for a few moments and then shook his head. “Want to try another one?” 

Marco knew that if he didn’t say anything now, the moment would pass and they would both pretend it never happened. He felt like a coward as he grabbed the bag with the fortune cookies and emptied them onto the table between them, but there was also relief, relief that whatever was coming towards them had been delayed just for a little while longer. 

They slipped back into the easy bantering mood from earlier quickly enough as they cracked open the cookies and read the fortunes to each other in increasingly dramatic voices. But later, when Marco was buried in Mario and kissing the sweat-slick skin of his neck as he thrust into him slowly, his best friend’s grip on his back was just a little too tight, like Mario was trying to keep him from slipping away. 

*

Monday morning saw them making their way back to Dortmund by getting up incredibly early and catching a ride to the train station, where they found out that the coach with their reserved first class tickets had been disconnected from the train. Since it wasn’t the only one, the entire train was packed and they ended up making camp on the ground between the compartments, consoling themselves with the thought that at least there was no delay that would make Kloppo tear them a new one later. 

The lucky streak they’d been riding the entire weekend gave out as they got recognized by a few fans and Marco left Mario behind to sign stuff and take pictures as he scrounged up some food in the board bistro. Thankfully, the group had moved on by the time he got back, but Mario gave him a dark look as Marco dropped down next to him. 

“Traitor,” he accused and Marco grinned. 

“They like you better anyway, Sunny. Also, I knew you’d say that and I come prepared.” He waved the croissant he’d had to fight a middle-aged lady for in Mario’s face. “Don’t say I never do anything for you. I risked life and limb to get this.”

Mario glowered at him, but snatched the croissant from his hands. He took a huge bite and sighed in satisfaction as he chewed the crumbly pastry, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It figures that we get recognized once we’re trapped for three hours. I honestly thought we might make it through this trip without it.” 

“They’re probably from Dortmund,” Marco pointed out. “Bet you ten bucks BILD will call us down-to-earth once they get a hold of the pictures.” 

Mario snickered. “Bet you twenty that the article will be online before we get off this train.” 

Both of them turned out to be right and once they arrived in Dortmund, Marco dragged Mario into the first souvenir shop in the train station to buy him a ten euro shirt that had an obnoxiously large picture of Borsigplatz on the front. Ten minutes later they got Marco’s car out of the parking garage and were on their way to Brackel with plenty of time to spare. 

When they pulled into the parking grounds of the training center, the figures of their teammates arriving for the Monday morning training session visible through the windshield, Marco felt a pang of regret. Their private little getaway was truly over and judging from the look on Mario’s face, his best friend knew it, too. Unable to stand Mario’s glum expression, Marco nudged him gently until he met his eyes. 

“Homestretch, Sunny.” 

Mario snorted, opening his door and starting to get out. “Look at the bright side. Even if we’re thrown out in the quarters, at least we’ll get to go to Spain.” 

*

They didn’t get thrown out in the quarters. The days leading up to their first game against Malaga were a frenzy of training, tactical sessions and just hanging around at Brackel until Kloppo threatened to throw them all out. They didn’t manage to score on the away game, but neither did Malaga. Since they would have the stadium behind them for the second match, spirits were high in the week in between and every single one of them actually increased their effort in training, which Marco would have thought to be impossible just a few days ago. 

Mario was tightly wound and Marco did his best to relax him, in spite of his own nerves, but he wasn’t very successful. Even some of the others noticed that their golden boy was a bit off and when Kevin tried to reassure Mario by pledging that they’d kick Bayern’s ass in all three competitions next season, Mario only managed a wan smile. 

Maybe some of his apprehension was justified, because they had trouble in the first half and Malaga scored before they did, even though Lewy managed the tie right before halftime. The second half was hard fought and both Mario and Marco had the chance to break the tie, but each of them missed by centimeters. Eight minutes before regular playing time was about to end, Malaga scored again and now the fight actually became a battle. Marco honestly thought they were done, but then the ball fell right in front of his feet and he only had to put it in. The fans were going crazy, the stadium in a complete frenzy as they screamed for the team to score once more. And unbelievably, with less than a minute left on the clock, Santi did it, heading the ball into the back of the net after Marco’s attempt was fended off by Malaga’s goalkeeper. 

The next hour was mayhem, the fans and team celebrating on the grass in front of the Süd in joint joyful disbelief. They’d done it, they would play the semifinals and the way the match had gotten turned around in overtime would be talked about in Dortmund for years to come, Marco was pretty sure of that. After they’d cleared the pitch, the team went on to celebrate in the locker rooms and it was nearly midnight when Marco and Mario made their way to the parking lot, Mario limping since he’d pinched a nerve sometime in those last few minutes and had refused to go off. 

They had their own celebration once they were back in Marco’s flat, Mario on his back and with his foot carefully propped up on some pillows as Marco fucked him into the bed. Cleaning up and preparing for actual sleep afterwards had never been such a challenge and it didn’t help that Kloppo had given them the next two days off. Marco was running high on adrenaline, his whole body still jittery with nerves and joy, even as he closed his eyes and tried to relax enough to actually fall asleep. 

He was pretty sure that Mario wasn’t faring any better, because for once his best friend’s breathing didn’t even out after a couple of minutes of lying curled into Marco. Mario usually held the record for being able to fall instantly asleep. In an effort to relax them both, Marco pulled him back against his chest, sliding a hand underneath Mario’s shirt to draw lazy patterns across his skin. The last image in his mind before falling asleep was the sight of the Süd celebrating frenetically and Marco smiled, tucking his face into the back of Mario’s neck. They might have lost the Bundesliga, but they were damn well going to get that cup. 

*

Marco wasn’t sure whether it was actually Mario’s absence that woke him a couple of hours later, but as he blinked in the darkness of his bedroom, trying to orient himself, his hand slid across empty sheets and he sat up, scrubbing a hand across his face. There was no light beneath the bathroom door and the mattress was cold where his body hadn’t been, which meant that Mario must have gotten up some time ago. 

Marco swallowed, the slow trickle of fear in his stomach sudden and completely absurd. There were plenty of reasons why Mario could have gotten up, rational, practical reasons. Maybe his foot had hurt, maybe he just hadn’t managed to fall asleep after the match and wanted to watch some TV instead. In any case, this dark rush of panic, like he was on the edge of some cliff instead of safe and sound in his own bedroom, was ridiculous. Marco knew that. 

It still didn’t mean that he could entirely shake the feeling as he got up, opening the bedroom door and padding into the living room. Mario was sitting on the couch, his bandaged foot up on the coffee table, which should have been enough to soothe some of Marco’s nerves, but instead it did the opposite, his anxiety kicking up a notch. Because there was something wrong with this picture. There were some lights on, but the TV was still dark and Mario was just…sitting there, unmoving, gaze fixed on the far off wall. 

Marco wanted to run all of a sudden, to go back into his bedroom, pull the covers over his head and pretend he’d never seen Mario in the first place. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But of course there was no real choice for him, not once he’d seen his best friend look so forlorn. Marco forced himself to move, rounding the couch and nudging at Mario’s foot gently until he made room for Marco to sit on the coffee table, facing him. 

Marco cleared his throat, running his fingertips over Mario’s propped up foot. “You hurting?” _Please say yes. Say it’s your foot, say you couldn’t sleep, ask me for painkillers, anything._ The thought was so strong that Marco was afraid that he’d actually spoken aloud for a second, but Mario just shook his head, not meeting his eyes. When he did, Marco almost recoiled. 

Mario looked wrecked, his eyes red-rimmed and dark, like he’d been crying. He was biting down on his bottom lip and when he finally spoke, his voice was so hoarse Marco had trouble understanding him at first. “I fucked up, Marco.” 

Marco leaned forward instinctively, raising a hand to touch his best friend, but Mario flinched back, crossing his arms across his chest and hunching his shoulders. Marco tried to suppress the nauseating wave of panic at that. “What are you talking about, Sunny?” 

“I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, so many times, but there just was never the right moment to-“ Mario broke off, shaking his head. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Told me what?” Marco was trying to stay calm, but it was hard, the fear gnawing at his stomach. “Mario, there’s nothing you couldn’t say to me. Nothing at all that could make me think less of you, okay?” 

Mario looked at him then and the broken smile on his face was the most horrible thing Marco had ever seen in his life. The sense of foreboding that had overcome him twice before in the last couple of months suddenly rose in his chest again and Marco wanted to slap a hand across Mario’s mouth, anything to keep him from talking. 

“I got an offer from Bayern. I’m leaving at the end of the season.” 

When Marco was eight years old, his family had spent a summer vacation in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, camping right next to a beautiful lake. The lake’s surface had been warmed by the sun and Marco and his sisters paddled around the shallows for hours, playing tag and splashing each other until their parents dragged them out for lunch or to reapply their sunscreen. But further out, where the ground dropped off and the lake got deeper, the water was colder, an icy draft at the bottom of your feet when you swam out. 

A few weeks into their vacation, Marco had climbed the big rock formation leading into the water that the bigger kids used to jump into the lake, a near three meter drop. He’d jumped from that height into swimming pools before and Mel and Yvy were up on the rock, watching him as he went down, after Marco had begged his parents for permission three days straight. As he went into the water, the fall pushing him deep where the water was ice cold and dark, Marco’s chest had tightened until he was dead sure that he’d never be able to draw breath again, his throat working furiously as he managed to kick to the surface, clawing for air. He could hear his sisters yelling, saw a bird fly low over the lake’s surface with perfect clarity, but there was no way for him to speak, his lungs frozen. 

It was the same feeling he had now. He’d heard the words come out of Mario’s mouth, even knew what they meant, but there was nothing in his mind, nothing at all as the cold water closed in all around him. He heard someone talking and to his complete surprise, Marco realized that it was his own voice, far off and distant over the rush in his ears. 

“No. No, that can’t be.” 

Marco made a serious effort to pull himself out of the tailspin of his memories, struggling to regain control. He stared at Mario pleadingly and for the first time he really understood what people meant when they wished for something to be nothing more than a bad dream. Marco thought he would do unspeakable things to wake up right then, Mario next to him, ready to laugh at the ridiculousness of Marco’s nightmares. Mario leaving Dortmund. Preposterous! But as he took in his best friend’s weary expression, the tight line of his shoulders, Marco knew better. He would have given anything in the world not to, but he knew better. 

“I had to tell you now.” Mario’s voice still sounded far-off and Marco had to struggle to focus on it. “I’m telling Kloppo tomorrow. And I needed you to know first.” 

Marco wanted to scream at him that he never wanted to know, not ever, but what came out instead was: “How long have _you_ known?” 

Mario bit his lip. “Two months,” he admitted. 

“Two months,” Marco repeated numbly and as he uttered the words, so many things fell into place. Mario’s odd behavior, his thousand-yard-stares, the sudden mood swings going back as far as that night when he’d disappeared. Which had been right after that loss against Bayern. Jesus fucking Christ. Marco felt a rush of fury as clear and bright as spring water and he latched onto it, anything to keep himself from breaking down completely. 

“So what, you decided that if you can’t beat them, better join them?” Even with the fury welling inside of him, he was a bit startled by the nasty edge in his voice, but Mario just took it with a stoic look on his face that made Marco want to punch him. 

“It’s not that,” Mario said and he sounded so reasonable, so bloody, fucking calm, like they were discussing what to watch on TV. “I can’t stay in Dortmund forever. I need a change, if I want to develop. And I might never get this kind of opportunity again. They’ve made it pretty clear that this offer is a one-time deal. They want me now, or not at all.” 

Marco didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was too damn perfect. “You know why that is, don’t you? They want to hurt us by buying you off!” He couldn’t believe that Mario, of all people, hadn’t considered that. But when he saw the resigned look in Mario’s eyes, Marco realized with a jolt of surprise and dismay that he’d gotten it wrong. Mario had considered it. He just didn’t care. 

“It doesn’t matter why they want me,” Mario said quietly, imploring. “The only important thing is that I’ve been given this opportunity. Guardiola wants me, Marco. _Guardiola_. I couldn’t say no.”

Marco laughed then, the sound harsh and broken in his own ears. “Actually, you could have. You could have done a lot of things, Mario. Don’t act like this is some act of God, or fate, or some shit. You want this. At least be man enough to admit that.” 

Mario looked stung, but not surprised and it shifted into an expression of resigned determination. He nodded, once. “You’re right. I want this.” 

Marco had thought that getting him to admit that would be satisfying, but God, had he been wrong. He’d been wrong about so many things. All Marco felt was a hollow emptiness that radiated from the pit of his stomach. “What about us?” 

The words were out of his mouth before he knew he wanted to say them, even though in truth, it was all that had been on his mind since Mario first said he was leaving. For the first time, Mario actually looked thrown, like this was the last thing he’d expected Marco to ask. The hot rush of embarrassment that Marco felt when he realized that their sort-of relationship hadn’t even been on Mario’s radar when he prepared for this conversation, was like iron in his mouth and he cleared his throat awkwardly, backtracking before Mario was forced to give him an answer that would make this even worse. 

“We could be great together. You know that, I know that, even Kloppo knows that! We were meant to play together, Mario. I thought that was our dream.” It was as close as he could come to pleading Mario not to leave him and Marco immediately knew it wasn’t enough when he saw the closed-off expression on his best friend’s face, the wavering look from before gone, like it had never been there in the first place. 

Mario shook his head, eyes dark. “I’m sorry.”

Marco felt something inside of him break at that and he was up and moving in a flash, the hot prickle of tears in his throat, chocking him. He blindly grabbed a key from the rack in the hallway and yanked open his front door, the stairs lying dark and deserted in front of him. He took them two at a time, hearing Mario call out his name, but knowing that there was no way his best friend would catch him in time. He only realized that he wasn’t wearing any shoes when he stepped out into the freezing night air, but there was no turning back for him now and Marco slid into his car, gunning the engine. 

The streets were deserted, even the late night party stragglers long gone and the rush of the morning commute still a ways off. It took Marco less than fifteen minutes to his parents’ house and once he did, he simply parked the Aston in the driveway and put his head on the wheel, finally allowing himself to break down and cry. That was the way his dad found him a couple hours later when he came out to get the morning newspaper. 

At that point, Marco was long past feeling embarrassed and he went meekly with his dad when he pulled him from the car, hustling them into the house and yelling for Marco’s mother. She flew down the stairs, still in her nightgown and Marco felt a faint stab of guilt that he was causing his parents so much worry, but he was too exhausted to really help it. Apparently his mom and dad saw that as well, because they made no inquiries, simply tucked Marco into bed in the upstairs bedroom and gave him two sleeping pills. Marco swallowed them dutifully and sank bank into the pillows, only dimly aware that his parents were still in the room whispering as he slipped off into sleep. 

*

Marco loved his parents. This wasn’t news to him, but he came to appreciate them in a whole new way in the days following his breakdown after Mario’s news. They didn’t bother him with questions after Marco had told them in clipped words that Mario was transferring at the end of the season, just let him lie in the guest bedroom and stare at the ceiling, supplying food in regular intervals. There were a lot of questions they _could_ have asked and the fact that they didn’t told Marco that his parents had a better idea about what was going on between him and Mario than he would have guessed before. 

Either he’d been a lot more obvious than he thought or Mel had let something slip, but the ironic thing was that at this point it didn’t even matter. The thing with Mario had come to an end and Marco felt like such a complete fool for being as heartbroken as he was. He’d known this wouldn’t end well, they had been doomed from the start and he’d still allowed himself to fall in love with someone, who only saw him as a best friend and to a degree, a means to an end. Marco couldn’t even be angry at Mario, he had been eager enough to present himself as just that when the whole thing between them had started. 

But it hurt. God, did it hurt. Mario was leaving him and even though Marco knew he had no real claim on him, it hurt more than anything else he’d ever experienced. The pain was like a constant ebb and flow, flooding through him with fresh intensity every time he so much as thought about his best friend. It was a good thing that they’d gotten two days off after the Malaga game, because Marco felt up to nothing but lying in bed and occasionally checking his phone to see if Mario had called. 

He wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d pick up if he did, but the point was moot. Mario didn’t call, or text and Marco had no idea whether to be angry or relieved. He didn’t think he was up to facing his best friend again; just thinking of him was like a punch to the gut, not that it stopped Marco most of the time. What could he even say? Most of what he wanted to sounded like recriminations and only a tenth of those were fair, Marco had to admit. 

Sure, Mario should have told him sooner. Preferably when he’d been considering it, so that Marco could change his mind. Sure, telling him like that had been a dick move, especially after the game they’d had. And sure, going to Bayern, of all the teams in the world, was a slap to the face. But even though Marco was angry about all of those things, they weren’t on his mind most of the time. He could understand that Mario had been afraid to tell him and if he dug really deep, he could even scrounge up some understanding for the move from a career point of view. 

The thing he was most angry about, if Marco was honest with himself, was that Mario wanted to leave Dortmund, leave _him_ in the first place. How little a role Marco had played in his considerations to stay. And how could he honestly face Mario again, when Marco knew himself just how unfair that was. It wasn’t Mario’s fault that Marco had made himself available as an easy source of sex and intimacy and wound up wanting more from his best friend than he could give. 

So here Marco was, wrapped into a blanket in his parents’ guest bedroom and passing the time with irregular crying fits that he muffled in one of the fancy decorative pillows and bouts of apathy when he simply stared at the walls and ceiling. Before all this, he probably would have been mortified if his mother and father saw him like this, but as things were, Marco found he had no energy left to care. His parents were no strangers to emotional break-ups; Marco’s sister had made sure of that during their teenage years. It explained the ease and gentle care with which they handled him during those two days. But it was also a reason for them to force him out of his wallowing after that. 

“Sweetheart, you need to get up. You might not feel like it, but lying around like this is only helpful for so long,” his mother said gently, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“You have training today.” His dad’s voice brooked no argument.

Marco opened his mouth, but his mother shushed him. “We know it’s hard, honey. But you’ll have to see him again eventually.” 

It was the first time they’d actually voiced that they knew and Marco allowed himself a moment of fierce gladness that they weren’t making a big deal out of the fact that their son had turned out to be not quite straight. He’d never expected anything else, but he still felt a surge of love so strong for them that there was a bit of a sting in his eyes. It gave him the strength to finally climb out of the bed that had been his refuge for the last two days, if only to make them happy. 

*

His throat was tight with anxiety when he pulled into the parking lot at Brackel, which turned out to be completely unnecessary. Mario was missing from training, since his pinched nerve still had to be treated by the physios. Mats gave him an odd look when he told him and Marco squirmed beneath it, keenly aware that not knowing what was up with Mario was a huge red flag to anyone who knew them. 

Thankfully Mats didn’t ask and no one else posed any questions either. The news of Mario’s transfer was quite obviously still a secret and the entire team was reveling in their post-Malaga victory bliss, which Marco tried to join into, but gave up after a while when it became obvious that he just didn’t have it in him. He felt Kloppo’s eyes on him and when he glanced over to his coach, the grim expression and the tiny nod he was given told Marco that there was at least one other person who knew about Mario’s plans. From the looks of it, Kloppo hadn’t taken it much better than Marco. 

Marco was relieved once they were done for the day, wanting to go home as quickly as possible. He hadn’t seen Mario, but he was probably on the grounds somewhere, being treated for his injury and the constant awareness of being so close to his best friend and the possibility of bumping into him had been nerve-wracking. He only slowly relaxed on the drive home, but the feeling evaporated when he pulled up to his building and realized that he would have to enter his flat for the first time since their fight. 

It was so much worse than he thought, mostly because there was nothing in his home that even hinted at the fact that Mario had ever been here. His clothes, some of which had always been mixed in with Marco’s, were gone, same with his toiletries from the bathroom. The sheets had been changed and the bed was made, something Mario hadn’t done once in all the time they’d been sleeping together. 

If Marco had entertained any doubts about whether his best friend had come to the same conclusions Marco had in regards to what his transfer meant for their relationship, they were gone now. Mario had gone to some efforts to remove himself as completely and neatly as possible from Marco’s life during his absence. 

It was another blow Marco hadn’t been expecting and before he could quite think about what the hell he was doing, he was digging through his hamper, ripping out the sheets Mario had pulled of the bed, but obviously not laundered. There was a tiny rational part of him left that reminded him that even for his standards this was pretty pathetic, but Marco ignored it as he pressed the soft linens to his face and inhaled, hoping to catch some of trace of Mario’s scent. 

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting on his bathroom floor with a bunch of sheets pressed to his face, when the doorbell suddenly rang. It caused a spike of adrenaline to course through him, the idea that it might be Mario, to apologize, to tell him he wouldn’t go, to promise him he’d stay forever- 

Marco resolutely suppressed those thoughts and got up, taking the sheets with him and placing them on the bed as he passed through the bedroom. His heart was beating double time and his palms were sweaty as he paused in front of his own door, berating himself. Straightening his shoulders, Marco took off the chain and opened the door. And blinked. Because it wasn’t Mario. It wasn’t his parents, or any of his friends either. 

*

“We need to talk,” Ann-Kathrin said as she pushed past him, her entire body a line of anger. She looked perfectly put-together as always, her immaculate make-up and outfit reminding Marco that he was unshaven and looked like he’d spent the last two days in bed. Which to be fair, he had. 

“Yeah? What about?” 

The frown marred her otherwise perfectly even face. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Marco refused to back down. “I have nothing to say to you. Least of all about Mario.” 

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing and there was a long pause. “So what, you’re just done with him?”

“What?” Marco snapped. “No, of course not. Why would you-“ 

“Because to me,” she interrupted him, voice growing in volume and becoming even sharper. “It sure as hell looks that way. Have you even called him once since he told you?” 

Marco boggled at her. “Called him?! He’s the one who ignored me for the last couple of days!” 

“After you just ran away!”  
“He told you that?” Marco said disbelievingly. 

“Of course he told me! His best friend basically abandoned him after he shared the potentially biggest news of his career, who else was he going to tell?” 

God, that stung. Being reminded that she was close to Mario stung, no matter how ridiculous it was. Especially now. Marco knew there was little sense in asking, but he did anyway. 

“Did you know? About the offer, I mean. Did he tell you?” 

She hesitated, then sighed. “Yes,” she said. “He told me.” 

Marco gave a bitter laugh. “Of course he did.” His entire body felt hollow suddenly, wrung out and worn. 

“He feels horrible,” Ann-Kathrin said and Marco scoffed. 

“So he sent you to tell me that?” 

“No.” She shook her head. “He’d kill me, if he knew I was here. I don't think he's going to ask your forgiveness. He doesn’t think he deserves to.” 

Marco was thrown by that. “I- that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive him for. He’s my best friend.” 

“Really?” She gave him a cool look. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Marco took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Look, not that this is any of your business, but…it fucking sucked, to be told like that, alright?” His voice sounded rough, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Let her hear it, what the fuck did he even care. He couldn’t quite believe he was telling her of all people, but maybe this was for the best. God knew his parents had put up with enough in the last couple of days. “He made all of these decisions without ever saying one word to me and now expects me to be happy about him leaving and I can’t, okay? I would do anything for him, but I just can’t.” 

She studied him intently and Marco was a bit surprised to see that the anger had vanished from her face. “I know this sucks. But he needs you right now. The news is going to get out and when the press gets a hold of this story, he will need someone in his corner to shield him from all the shit they’re going to throw at him. You and I both know that I’m not the person who can do that for him. He’ll need you to support his decision, because no one else is going to.”

Support Mario’s decision to leave. Even the thought was painful. Marco shook his head. “I can’t.”

She nodded once, like she hadn’t expected anything else. “Maybe that’s true. The thing is though, as his best friend you don’t get a choice. So if you’re really his best friend, you’ll do what’s best for him.” Her eyes were cool and intent as she looked at him, determined. “If you’re really his best friend, you’ll let him go.” 

~

**Author's Note:**

> If you would be kind enough to leave feedback, I would really appreciate it. I love to hear what you guys think and it's a huge motivation when I'm working on the next part <3


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